Comedy Sex
by Drummerchick7
Summary: Hawke keeps finding herself in compromising - and hilarious - situations with the women of Kirkwall. An ongoing series of ficlets.
1. Chapter 1 - Isabela

_A/N: A prompt given to me by my wife: "I want Hawke to fuck ALL the women. And my only stipulation is that it be comedy-sex."_

_So she watches me play these games, and she's read a little of what I write. While I'm playing and I'm talking to any given lady in the game, she'll inevitably ask me, "So you gonna fuck her?" She got tired of me saying no. So the other day when I asked her if she had any requests for smut, she immediately gave me this prompt. You got it, honey!_

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**Isabela**

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

Hawke shook her head. "Absolutely not."

Isabela rolled her eyes. "You are _no_ fun, Hawke." She ran a hand down Hawke's stomach.

"Isabela!" Hawke grabbed at her hand, trying desperately to keep it from wandering inside her trousers. They were in public! People could see them!

Isabela chuckled, snaking her other hand in while Hawke focused on the first one. "Oh, but it will be so much _fun_!"

Hawke hesitated, her body already responding to Isabela's faint ministrations through her smallclothes. The woman definitely knew what she was doing. Her hesitation was her undoing. Within minutes she was being dragged through the doors of the Chantry, cursing her treacherous body and its inability to say no to an opportunity to have sex with a pretty, willing woman.

"Now," the pirate purred quietly. "Let me show you how much fun this can be."

They were upstairs, in one of the library nooks of the Chantry's main hall. Isabela pressed her up against the wall before dropping to her knees, dragging Hawke's trousers with her. The smallclothes were around Hawke's knees next, and then that talented tongue, those knowing fingers, were parting wiry hair and finding her most delicate of places.

Hawke gasped, immediately threading her fingers under the pirate's bandana and into silky locks of raven hair, seeking balance. The pirate _really_ knew what she was doing.

"Shit, Isabela," she managed, trying desperately to keep her voice at a whisper. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

She was answered with a throaty chuckle. Then those hands were parting her knees as far as they would go, and that tongue was seeking her entrance. An answering flood of wetness coated Isabela's chin, making both of them groan in pleasure.

"Is someone there?"

They froze.

"Hello?"

"Shit," Hawke mouthed in an urgent whisper. "I told you this was a bad idea!"

The rogue was on her feet, her hand over Hawke's mouth, immediately. "Hush," she mouthed, close to the warrior's ear. "This is part of the fun – the risk of getting caught."

They heard footsteps on the stairs.

Isabela gave Hawke a sharp tug, and the warrior followed as best she could with her pants still around her knees, staring daggers into Isabela's back as she went. _Never again_, she promised herself. _Never again will I listen to Isabela_.


	2. Chapter 2 - Aveline

**Aveline**

Aveline's lips felt just like the rest of her – hard and angular, yet with a softness you wouldn't expect upon first glance. It took Hawke a moment to kiss her back, she was so taken by surprise. She _had_ been attempting to help the guard captain tell the man she was sweet on that she was sweet on him, but it had backfired somewhat spectacularly, and now they were back in the captain's office. And instead of wallowing in her own self-pity, Aveline was apparently coping with it by attacking Hawke with her lips and tongue.

The guard captain had taken Hawke by the shirt and pushed her into the desk, practically hoisting her up onto it in her enthusiasm. And "enthusiastic" was definitely the right descriptor to use. Aveline had her tongue in Hawke's mouth immediately, her hands finding the woman's hips and gripping them tightly. Hawke barely had a moment to let out a yelp beforehand, and only now was responding, twining their tongues together while her own hands travelled down the guard captain's unyielding armor plating, seeking the softness underneath. She couldn't deny that she had wanted this for a long time, even as she knew it could affect their strong friendship.

"Aveline!" She gasped as she pulled away, catching her breath. "What _is_ this? What about Donnic?"

The woman practically growled, pawing at Hawke's shirt, clearly trying to find the ties. "Isn't this what you do to feel good? Don't you yourself say that it doesn't _always_ have to be about feelings? I'm in love with Donnic. That's not what this is, Hawke."

"But I- oh!" Aveline had found the ties to her shirt and yanked the front of it open, her eyes gleaming at the bound breasts revealed to her.

She flicked her eyes back to Hawke's. "Hawke. I know you want this. You've been hinting at it for years. And your hints are far from subtle."

"Well, can you blame me? I'm not subtle in my hints _anymore_." Really, Aveline was the most obtuse woman alive when it came to the finer aspects of flirtation, given her experience that day of trying to help her woo Donnic.

The guard captain glared, her hands stilling upon Hawke's breast-band. "Are you really going to argue right now? If you don't want it, the door is over there." Hawke saw a flash of fear, disappointment. Suddenly, Hawke realized that this wasn't necessarily about wanting Hawke desperately – it was about feeling good with a friend, someone who would take her as she was and not judge her the next day.

Hawke was still and silent for a moment before flinging herself forward, capturing Aveline's lips with her own and allowing the redheaded warrior to delve her hands past Hawke's breast-band. Warm hands fondled her, pushing her clothing aside as the warrior's lips and tongue danced along her throat. But after a few minutes had passed, it was clear to Hawke that Aveline was going no further without further prompting.

Pulling back, she caught her breath for a moment before asking the question. "Everything alright?"

Aveline's face, flushed from their kissing, flushed further, turning a bright red. "I…" Her eyes shifted, her brows knitting. "I have not been with a woman. Only with Wesley…"

Hawke could almost laugh. She smiled for a moment, holding back a giggle, having to rush to explain her mirth when Aveline's frown turned from uncertainty to hurt and anger, her hands disappearing from Hawke's skin. Hawke captured her by the wrists and almost shouted, "Wait! Just let me explain." Slowly, not taking her eyes off Aveline's, she guided the woman's hands to her trousers. Undoing them together, she whispered, "I promise, it will come to you. It should at least be familiar terrain."

Undoing the front of the guard captain's trousers as well, she reached in, and together they felt each other's wetness, gasping before kissing each other once more. Aveline found her rhythm very quickly, and soon they were gasping and moaning, kissing fiercely until Hawke started to buck against her friend's hand. Coming down from her peak, she gave a few expert strokes of her own, sending Aveline careening over the edge. A few minutes and some exhausted panting later, she started to laugh.

"Well," she breathed, removing her hand from Aveline's waistband and lazily redoing the woman's trousers. "That was… lovely." The guard captain grinned, a guilty look that said she'd enjoyed it tremendously, despite her constant criticizing of both Hawke and Isabela for the casual sex they both often had. Hawke was about to say something smart to that effect when a knock sounded at the door.

Aveline's face flushed red once more, her eyes wide as she called out. "One moment!" Hawke began redoing her shirt, leaving the breast-band around her waist for the moment. Aveline walked her to the door, and Hawke passed a confused-looking Donnic as she left. Grinning to herself, she left them alone. Hopefully, Aveline would be able to get her feelings out now that she'd had some relief of tension. And hopefully Donnic wouldn't be able to tell what had just happened in that room…


	3. Chapter 3 - Meredith

**Meredith**

Hawke was curled up underneath Knight-Commander Meredith's desk, completely naked. The Knight-Commander sat in front of her, trousers around her ankles, pale skin almost shining in the moonlight coming in through the single window behind her. Orsino had just barged in, prompting a previously amorous Meredith to shove the naked Champion under the desk as she sat very quickly in her chair.

It was cramped under there, as Hawke was not a small person. Luckily, she hadn't come in her plate armor, or this tryst wouldn't have been possible. She hadn't been planning this, but Meredith had been in a particularly jovial mood while she thanked Hawke for tracking down those blood mages. Hawke had felt compelled to push her luck and had kissed the Knight-Commander, who had responded amicably. They had slept together once before, not long after the Deep Roads expedition, when Hawke was spending a lot of time around the Gallows trying to visit her newly-incarcerated sister.

Hawke was interrupted by her musings by the look of Meredith's sex, inches in front of her face. Smiling to herself, she did something she figured she would regret doing, but which she simply could pass up the opportunity for. Leaning forward slightly, she ran her tongue in one long stroke from Meredith's entrance to the bundle of nerves above. She smirked as the Knight-Commander froze. After a second stroke of her tongue, Meredith's hand grabbed her by the hair, puling her away. She snickered silently.

"Meredith? Are you alright?"

Meredith's voice wavered slightly as she answered. "I am fine, Orsino! Are you quite finished listing your grievances?"

The mage paused. "No, Knight-Commander. I want proof that these blood mages you had the Champion _murder_ were actually blood mages."

Hawke quietly snickered once more. Her head might be immobilized, but she still had two hands. And she made good use of them.

"I do not-" Meredith cut herself off as Hawke traced a finger up and down the woman's folds. Her other hand shot under the desk, finding Hake's wrist and immobilizing it. "I do not owe you anything of that nature, Orsino."

"I am the First Enchanter! In other Circles that _means_ something! Is this because I am an elf?"

"Others may discriminate based on that. But trust me when I say that-" Again, the Knight-Commander cut herself off, as Hawke used her remaining hand to slowly enter Meredith's sex. She marveled in how suddenly wet the woman had become. Slowly, she began pumping in and out, until her hand was trapped by the Knight-Commander's knees snapping shut. "You would _not_ be First Enchanter if I held such despicable prejudices! Now, out! I have business to attend to."

Hakwe smirked, waiting for Meredith to finish what she was saying this time before pulling her two fingers forward. She felt the Templar commander shiver.

There was silence for a moment before the door slammed. Almost immediately Hawke's hand was removed from the Knight-Commander's sex before she was hauled bodily from under the desk and slammed onto its surface.

"What. Was. That?!"

Hawke tried to shrug, but couldn't keep the grin entirely off her face. She traced a wet finger – whose wrist was encircled by Meredith's hand – along the inside of the blonde woman's wrist. "We were having fun before he barged in. I didn't see any reason why _my_ fun needed to end."

Meredith seemed in an internal war. Hawke decided it for her when she leaned forward and brushed her lips, which she knew smelled of Meredith's sex, against the Knight-Commander's. "I felt how wet it got you, Knight-Commander."

With a primal growl, the blonde woman captured Hawke's lips with her teeth. They were quickly right back to where they had been, though this time Meredith had the good sense to lock the door.


	4. Chapter 4 - Athenril

_A/N: I'm sure we've all been here, right? ATTENTION: toilet humor ahead. Hope this doesn't upset anyone. But farting during sex is some of the funniest comedy-sex I've ever had. But that's with my wife. I can't imagine if it were a casual sex situation. How mortifying!_

* * *

**Athenril**

"Did you just… _pass gas_?!"

Hawke swallowed. "Yes." She hurried to explain. "But I can't help it! This food your cook makes just doesn't agree with me!"

Athenril hmphed, crossing her arms. "I can't believe you just _farted_."

Hawke narrowed her eyes. The truth was she'd had an upset stomach for days, but Athenril had wanted a go, and Hawke was not one to turn that down, especially because she found that keeping her boss happy kept hers _and_ Bethany's lives happy. So she had sucked it up and gone for it.

And then that little hiss of gas had escaped her in her enthusiasm.

She sighed. "Just… ignore it. It won't happen again, I promise." She traced her hand along the elf's naked breast, up her throat to her soft, pointed ear. Athenril shuddered at the touch before launching herself at Hawke once more.

"It better not," she growled, taking Hawke's hand and putting it right where it had been before – inside of her. Hawke started pumping in an out once more, kissing the elven smuggler along her throat. Her stomach gave a small rumble, but she ignored it, curling her fingers forward and eliciting a sharp gasp from the elf.

Her stomach gave another small rumble, and she redoubled her efforts. She added a thumb to the mix, making the elf writhe underneath her. The elf was panting, moaning, gasping, and Hawke prayed it was enough. She was in a race to the finish here, and she was desperate to beat her own stomach.

A second later, the elf tensed, her thighs clamping shut on Hawke's leg, which had been driving the penetration of her hand. Hawke counted the seconds. As soon as Athenril let up, she was up off the mattress and running for the door, not even bothering to find her clothing. The elf was surprised, yelling after her, but she would just have to understand.

Ignoring the stares of the men around her, she sped for the latrine, hoping against hope she would make it. Bethany would never let her forget it if she didn't…


	5. Chapter 5 - Oranna

**Oranna**

"Ow! That was my eye!"

"I- I'm sorry! Oh, I ruin everything!"

Hawke grabbed her wrist. "It's okay, Oranna." She rubbed her eye, blinking it a few times to clear her vision. She smirked. "I certainly like the enthusiasm."

The elf blushed and looked away.

"Hey, don't do that. Let me see your face?"

She turned back to face her, and Hawke was struck by how pretty she was, once again. She hadn't meant to sleep with her servant. She wasn't a fan of the possible power differences that might arise after, especially given the woman's history as a slave. She shuddered to think of how the woman might have been used. She swore she hadn't, and Hawke believed her, but she had a hard time figuring out how the elf had managed to avoid it. Maybe she was owned by a woman? Or a man who was like Hawke, and only liked other men?

Her attention was pulled back from her musing by another delicious bit of ivory skin being bared. Oranna had come to her, after she was done with her work cleaning in the kitchen. Hawke had been a little drunk, in her study, reading Anders' manifesto and chuckling to herself over how seriously he took himself. Oranna had come in, looking a little funny, walking right into Hawke's personal space, taking her drink from her, and pulling her in for a kiss. And Hawke had _melted_.

She had been quietly wishing Oranna wasn't off-limits, watching her when she thought the elf wasn't looking. But perhaps she _had_ been looking. Either way, when Oranna had started undoing her own bodice, her hips pressed firmly into Hawke's, the warrior had certainly been paying attention. Such close attention that when Oranna looked back up, perhaps to kiss Hawke, her nose had gone right into the warrior's eye.

The bodice was now fully undone, and Hawke reached to help her remove it from her shoulders. But it got stuck on her arm, and in the ensuing struggle to remove it her elbow went crashing right into Hawke's face.

"Ah! Maker damn… ow…"

"Mistress!"

Hawke held up her hand, her other holding her nose while her eyes watered. "It's okay. Just… give me a moment."

She began to tug at her bodice, trying to put it back on. "I'll just go. I'm sorry I caused so much trouble. I'm not worth it…"

Hawke grabbed her wrists again, pulling the elf to her even as she blinked the tears away. "On the contrary, Oranna. Anything worth having is going to come at a price. I'm more than willing to take an elbow to the face if it means I get to have such a pretty woman so close to me."

The elf's large eyes flashed and she smiled. Hawke took her into her arms and proceeded to take matters into her own hands (as well as Oranna's beautiful, perky breasts). The rest of the evening was not free of further incidents, but they were more than worth it.


	6. Chapter 6 - Marethari

**Marethari**

_What am I doing? What the HELL am I __**doing**_?

It was a mantra in Hawke's head, even as she eagerly stripped the powerful elven mage in front of her. She had been talking with her, and it was growing late, so the Keeper had invited her and her companions to stay the night and leave the next morning. Everyone else was currently bunked outside, but she alone was invited into the Keeper's _aravel_ to partake of wine. One wineskin in, and she was feeling _quite_ drunk. And that was when she had decided to kiss the Keeper.

Much to her surprise, the Keeper had responded positively, and now here she was, undressing the woman. She wasn't as old as she seemed at first glance, and her body was definitely lithe and firm. Hawke found her arousal a little confusing, a little disconcerting, but she couldn't deny that it was there, and becoming stronger by the second.

Surprisingly perky breasts were revealed, a supple rump, with curves in all the right places. And she was so _small_ compared to Hawke, who stood at almost six feet in height. When Hawke started to be undressed, her heart went crazy against her chest. Her shirt came off, her breast-band, her boots and trousers. But then something happened. Her stomach started to rumble, and she was suddenly aware that she had had _far_ too much wine, and it really was a miracle that she managed to find the flap over the door and stick her head through.

She hurled. Everything she'd eaten or drunk in the last few hours came up, splashing into the grass outside the door. The fresh air hit her, a huge relief, and she drank in great gulps of it between heaves. After another minute it was clear she was done, and then she was struck by her current situation: completely naked, half of her sticking out of the Keepers _aravel_ for the entire clan – and her companions – to see, having just puked up everything the Dalish so graciously fed her, and there was no possible way things could continue once she popped all the way back inside.

_Forget what the Hell I'm doing. What the HELL AM I GOING TO DO __**NOW**__?!_

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___A/N: Wasn't sure about this one, but I decided to go with it anyway. Being too drunk and dealing witht he consequences is funny, right?_


	7. Chapter 7 - Grace

_For Raven Sinead. _

* * *

**Grace**

Hawke wanted to murder her own brain.

She had been at the Gallows, visiting her sister on her yearly visit that she was only allowed because she was Champion. But she was waylaid by Grace out in the courtyard, who decided to accompany her onto the main grounds.

Except instead of accompanying her all the way inside, Hawke had found herself pulled aside, the mage's hands buried in her hair and the woman's tongue in her mouth.

Hawke didn't ask questions. She was not stupid enough to ask where the affection had come from. She'd thought Grace was incredibly pissed at her because she and her apostate friends had been caught, yet here she was kissing the warrior instead. No, Hawke wasn't going to stop her and remind her of that. Instead she merely wrapped her arms around the apostate and melted further into whatever nook she'd been dragged into.

But then her brain had decided to play a practical joke. Reaching for Grace's breasts, her brain had decided at that _specific_ moment to remind her that her sister had breasts.

Her _sister_!

_Bethany's breasts are a little bit bigger than this_.

She pulled away, blinking her eyes and shaking her head, trying to rid herself of the thought.

"Is there a problem?" Grace asked, her voice almost a growl.

"No. No problem."

Her brain spoke up again as she pulled the apostate in and slipped her hand under the mage's skirt.

_You know Bethany's breasts are a little bigger because you shared a room until she came here. That reminds me! She's here. Maybe in the next room! She'll know what you've been doing here with Grace. She always knew when you'd been having sex. Remember the time she caught you with the one boy you've ever slept with? He had an __**enormous**__ package._

Hawke finished Grace off as quickly as she could, begging out of sex for herself. And plotting murder against her brain the entire time.

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_A/N: Anybody else have a troll brain? This is a variation on a thought process that has actually happened to me whilst attempting to be intimate with my wife. I'm not a squeamish person, but my troll-brain has incredibly awful timing... And thinking about my brother's package or the dog shit I picked up that day is **not** what I hope will be revealed to me when I'm trying to have sex. Hmph. _


End file.
